


Drogglejug

by KTook



Series: Hogwarts Houses Hijinks [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Nameless Characters, Obscure Reference, Ravenclaw, Talking Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTook/pseuds/KTook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ravenclaws are protesting, and McGonagall is losing her mind</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drogglejug

 “The Ravenclaws are protesting.”

“Again?” Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes. “What is it this time?”

Professor Sprout shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Now McGonagall lowered the copy of _Transfiguration Today_ to look at her fellow teacher. “Haven’t they told you?”

“If they have, I wouldn’t know,” Sprout replied irritably and slumped into a chair next to McGonagall.

“Dear me, Pomona,” McGonagall said with her eyebrows raised. “so tired after only two lessons?”

“Well, _you_ didn’t have to talk to a bunch of teenagers who refused to say anything except ‘Drogglejug’!”

“ ‘Dro –’ What are you talking about?” McGonagall asked, before it dawned on her. “Oh, you mean that’s the Ravenclaws’ protest?”

Sighing, Sprout nodded. “Count yourself lucky you have the first three periods off, Minerva,” she said. “That’ll mean you won’t have to deal with them as long as I.”

McGonagall looked at her friend in wonder. “It must be very exhausting if they made _you_ lose your nerve.”

“Just wait until it’s your turn,” Sprout muttered.

In the end, McGonagall found that Sprout had not been exaggerating – if anything, she had downplayed the whole affair.

She was very close to seriously losing her temper after only two minutes of trying to get a Ravenclaw to list the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, who simply said that ridiculous word, ‘Drogglejug’ five times.

Also, Sprout had somehow failed to mention the pillows.

Every protesting, ‘Drogglejug’-saying Ravenclaw (that is to say, all of them) wore a pillow on their head. There was neither logic nor reason to this, but it increasingly annoyed McGonagall.

Especially unnerving was the Ravenclaw sitting next to the one she had been questioning, for she wore a pillow with a long bobble on each corner, and nodded along every time someone said ‘Drogglejug’, sending them flying.

“Mulligan!” McGonagall roared, interrupting the first Ravenclaw’s repeated ‘Drogglejugged’ rendering of the five exceptions of Gamp’s Law, “either you stop nodding along to everything your housemate has to say or you take that three-times cursed pillow of, but for the love of all four founders of Hogwarts, STOP JANGLING THOSE BOBBLES!!”

Now that was something her students never thought they’d hear.

A red-haired Hufflepuff realized with cold terror that she was close to bursting into laughter. Frantically, she bit her lips, sitting red-faced and violently shaking with suppressed fits of giggling at the back of the classroom. Horrified, she stuffed a fist into her mouth, to no avail.

McGonagall closed her eyes and took a very deep breath, trying to calm down. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze fell upon the red-haired Hufflepuff. “Are you quite all right, Spring?” she asked stiffly. 

Spring nodded hastily, feeling her eyes water. McGonagall narrowed her eyes at her at her suspiciously.

More of the Hufflepuffs were trying to keep a straight face now, most of them failing spectacularly,  in stark contrast to the Ravenclaws, who looked utterly unfazed, somewhat nonplussed, even, as if they couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“Right,” McGonagall said, forcing her words to be controlled, collected, “is there anyone here who can list the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law? SOMEONE WHO IS NOT WEARING A PILLOW!” she bellowed, as five Ravenclaw hands shot up.

Now all was lost. Spring, the red-haired Hufflepuff, howled with laughter, joined immediately by the rest of her house, and then, gradually, even the Ravenclaws.

McGonagall was not stupid. She knew that at this point, all hope of an orderly, productive lesson was lost. With a sigh, she leaned on her desk, waiting for the laughter to ebb away.

It took them a while, but by and by, they calmed down, though still grinning, with one or two chuckling quietly.

“That’s twenty points from Ravenclaw,” McGonagall said calmly, “and fifteen from Hufflepuff.”

There was an uproar of outraged protests, the Hufflepuffs arguing, the Ravenclaws putting so much indignation into their shouts of ‘Drogglejug’ that it was almost impressive.

“Shut up or I’ll give you all detention!” McGonagall shouted.

That silenced them.

“Since a normal lesson does not seem possible,” McGonagall said, “you will have to work silently and on your own. If you can’t answer my questions, then you will have to write them down. I want an essay about the five exceptions from everyone by the end of the class. Get started.” And she sat down at her own desk, taking out some first-years’ homework to grade. But after mere seconds, she looked up at them again, fixing them with her beady eyes. “And if I read the word ‘Drogglejug’ even once…” she threatened.

The Ravenclaws nodded hastily. They’d got the message. A few students looked as if now regretting laughing – and in the case of one or two Ravenclaws, wearing the pillows –, but most shrugged it off, taking out quills and parchment, and started to write. 

The rest of the lesson passed without further interruptions, and McGonagall found herself continuing _Transfiguration Today_ because she had finished grading the first-years’ homework quicker than she had thought.

Finally, the bell rung, and McGonagall suppressed a groan of annoyance as chatter in the form of the single word ‘Drogglejug’ broke out. “Right, well, place your essays on my desk, please, and then off with you.”

She left the classroom last and headed to the grounds; it was her turn supervising the break today.

The Ravenclaws were still wearing their pillows – and chatting excitedly. McGonagall could only marvel at the fact that they seemed to be perfectly able to understand each other. She wondered how the pillows stayed on.

As if on cue, a second-year Ravenclaw, who hurried after a fifth-year, tripped, fell headlong to the ground, and send his pillow flying.

The fifth-year – the older brother, McGonagall now realised – turned around impatiently. “Drogglejug!” he called.

“Yes, yes,” the second-year replied, picking himself up. “Sorry, I tripped.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, watching as the second-year brushed the dirt off his robes and went to retrieve his pillow. So they weren’t under a collective jinx. McGonagall had almost had hope.

“How do you manage for them to stay on?” the second-year asked his older brother.

“Drogglejug,” the fifth-year hissed.

The second-year frowned. “What?”

McGonagall leaned forwards a little. This was very interesting. Apparently, the second-year couldn’t understand his brother.

“Drogglejug,” the fifth-year repeated, pointing at his wand.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” the second-year said, performed a Sticking Charm and put the pillow back on his head. “Drogglejug,” he said happily.

“Drogglejug,” the fifth-year agreed, resuming his way, with his little brother tottering behind him. 

Mystified, McGonagall shook her head.

The bell rang. With a groan, McGonagall realised she was facing another lesson with the Ravenclaws. Feeling very tired and understanding Sprout perfectly, she walked back to her classroom. _I hope this is over soon_ , she thought.

The protest lasted for a full three days.

Sprout, and of course Flitwick, too, had accepted the bizarre circumstances and adapted to them accordingly. Flitwick even seemed to enjoy himself.

McGonagall, however, was close to losing her mind. Her head had been constantly throbbing for the past two days and yesterday, one of the seventh-years had had the nerve of writing his homework using only one very particular word.

After McGonagall’s volcano-like outburst of rage, the school motto finally made a lot more sense to him. 

McGonagall then had taken the day off.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” she moaned that evening at dinner, “please, make it stop!”

Sprout and Flitwick strained to keep their faces straight, Sprout patting McGonagall’s back sympathetically. “Where is Albus, by the way?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” McGonagall replied exhaustedly, “I haven’t been in his office for days, I went straight to bed every night.” She put her head in her hands. “I’ll have to ask Poppy for something against headaches,” she muttered.

“Drogglejug!” 

The hall fell silent. McGonagall didn’t turn around to see who had arrived. She closed her eyes, her headache getting worse. “This isn’t true,” she murmured as if in trance. “Please, Pomona, tell me this isn’t true!”

Sprout glanced over her shoulder, than looked at McGonagall half-pitying, half-amused. “I don’t know what truth you’re denying, but Albus is standing behind you with a pillow on his head.”

McGonagall started to massage her temples.

She heard Dumbledore sit down next to her. Curious despite everything, she opened her eyes.

Dumbledore was smiling at her, wearing lilac robes with blue threads woven in. 

McGonagall’s eyes wandered up his head. 

His favourite sofa pillow rested on top of his crown, the wine-violet one with the embroidered, golden phoenix, a Christmas present from McGonagall.

“Drogglejug,” Dumbledore said, beaming at her.

McGonagall turned away. She felt sick.

The students in the Great Hall were holding their breath as Dumbledore let his piercing blue eyes sweep over them. 

“Drogglejug!” he announced, his voice carrying loudly through the hall.

“Drogglejug!” the Ravenclaws cheered enthusiastically, clapping and whistling.

“Don’t,” McGonagall murmured, “my head.”

Dumbledore looked at her, his eyes wide. “Drogglejug?” he asked worriedly.

“I’ve got a bloody headache!” she snapped with the thickest of brogues, “and you are. Not. Bleeding. Helping!” 

Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Flitwick shook his head. “Draco Dormiens, Albus, Draco Dormiens!” he warned.

With a glance at McGonagall, Dumbledore nodded.

“Where have you been, Albus?” Sprout piped up.

Dumbledore’s eyes lit up. He waved his wand and conjured up three pillows. He pointed his wand at each of them, saying “Drogglejug,” which made McGonagall wince. Then he handed the yellow one with the black badger to Sprout and the blue one with the bronze eagle to Flitwick.

But as he held out the red one with the golden lion, he nearly faltered. McGonagall looked at him so furiously that he would not have been surprised if there were flames shooting out of her eyes.

“No,” she said.

“Drog-” he began.

“NO!” she shouted.

Everyone’s heads turned towards her.

She took a deep breath and counted to ten before she continued. 

“Albus, I am not going to put a pillow on my head,” she said firmly.

“Droggle-” he started, but she interrupted him again.

“Let me repeat that,” she said. “I, Professor Minerva McGonagall, Head of the House of Gryffindor, am _not_ going to put a pillow on my head in front of all of Hogwarts!” 

“Drogglejug!” Sprout exclaimed in surprise.

“Drogglejug,” Flitwick agreed.

“You are all insane,” McGonagall groaned.

“Drogglejug,” Dumbledore repeated urgently, shaking the pillow. 

McGonagall ignored him.

You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to work out how to tell her it was absolutely vital that she put the pillow on.

McGonagall didn’t notice Flitwick taking his wand out at first, and when she did, it was too late.

“Drogglejug!” he cried, waved his wand, and the pillow flew out of Dumbledore’s hand and onto her head. McGonagall’s hands shot up to grab it and throw it away, but Flitwick performed the same Sticking Charm she had seen the little Ravenclaw use.

“Finally,” Dumbledore said. 

McGonagall stopped her futile attempts of trying to take the pillow off and stared at him. He smiled, his eyes glistering like the phoenix on his pillow. Suddenly, McGonagall realised that she could now hear normal talking from the Ravenclaw table.

“This is astonishing,” Sprout muttered, palpating her pillow.

“It is indeed,” Flitwick squeaked. “Albus, is this what you’ve been doing these past few days?”

“It is,” Dumbledore nodded.

“The pillows are charmed?” McGonagall asked, her eyes round.

“They are!” Dumbledore laughed gleefully. “A form of the Muffliato spell!”

“So…” McGonagall frowned, then her eyes widened. “Does that mean I’m saying ‘Drogglejug’?” she hissed.

“Only to anyone not wearing a pillow,” Dumbledore reassured her.

“That still makes three quarters of all students!” she retorted, avoiding to look at the Great Hall very deliberately. “And I am not going to wear a pillow in my classes!” she added when Dumbledore wanted to say something.

“I agree,” Sprout put in. “This was fun and all, but I think it’s time to put an end to it.”

“Thank you, Pomona!” McGonagall exclaimed.

“You’re welcome, Minerva.”

“Do you think so?” Dumbledore asked sceptically. “What about you, Filius?”

“I think Minerva might murder you if you let this continue for much longer,” Flitwick said with a grin.

Dumbledore glanced at McGonagall. “I think you’re right,” he murmured and stood up. The hall fell quiet once more. The students looked at their pillow-wearing headmaster curiously. “I assume you have all realised we’ve caught on with you,” Dumbledore said, a good-natured twinkle in his eye. “I do have to say that what you did there was rather impressive, coming up with such an original, extraordinary spell!” He raised his hands and clapped, with Sprout, Flitwick, and, reluctantly, McGonagall joining in, Flitwick jumping onto his chair and whistling.

The Ravenclaws clapped along, though some of them seemed a little disappointed, as they knew where this was going. The other houses, though utterly clueless as to what was going on, applauded as well, for good measure.

When the applause quieted down, Dumbledore continued. “But all praise aside, we all know this can’t go on. If you would all follow my lead –“ He unStuck his pillow, threw it high into the air, and with a flick of his wand and one last cry of “Drogglejug!” made it disappear in a shower of violet and golden sparks.

“Drogglejug!” the Ravenclaws shouted, doing the same, though their pillows Vanished a lot less impressively.

Flitwick unStuck McGonagall’s pillow, but she didn’t Vanish it. “That pillow you just Vanished, Albus…” she said a little crossly.

“…was a Christmas present from you and is safely back in my office,” Dumbledore laughed.

“Good.” McGonagall smiled suddenly. “You know,” she said, running a finger over the golden lion, “I think I might keep this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Whoever gets the reference will get a virtual hug


End file.
